Inheritance is never neutral, and this film knows it — money and land turn up with strings nobody wants to name out loud, and the family squirming around it is most of the fun.
Director Leão Lopes lets the old aristocracy rot rather than collapse. The house keeps standing while the people in it slowly become irrelevant to their own address, which unsettled me more than any dramatic exit would have.
What I liked most is how race sits right at the crack between the old families and whoever's inheriting the future, handled with real specificity rather than a vague nod at "class issues." There's real friction in how the newer arrivals are received, by the old guard and by each other. Cesária Évora's songs drift through it all like they know exactly how this ends.
The Island of Contenda would make a great double bill with Memories of Underdevelopment — Eusébio and Sergio each end up mourning a world that's already moved on without them, revealing their irrelevance.
No fireworks. Just a very long, slow exhale.